Military Intelligence? Nah, Couldn't Be!
by emm-ee-emm
Summary: What is Roy thinking! Or is he even thinking?


**Military Intelligence? Nah, Couldn't Be!**

_By: GuyWhoWrites_

**Disclaimer: What I don't own: FMA, Ed, Roy, Riza, Havoc, the military, or anyone/anything in this story. What I do own: a slightly torn, slightly crumpled five-dollar bill…**

Colonel Roy Mustang woke up at about 6:00 AM like he always did. He got up, got dressed, and got a quick bite to eat before he went out into the world for the day. People might have walked passed him normally if it wasn't for the infamous white gloves sticking out of his pocket and the destruction that they were known for. He was sleepy that morning, and consequently had forgotten to hide his gloves well. Instead, people today hastened to the other side of the street, made their ways past him, and crossed back again. He stopped abruptly and almost tripped when he felt his body come into contact with something that felt like it was mostly flesh with some metal. "Hey! Watch where you're-" He collected himself and thought to look down. He found Ed flat on his back. "Sorry, Fullmetal," said Roy. "Yeah, yeah. Just watch where you're going next time," replied the One-Inch-Wonder. "Don't worry," returned the colonel, "I can't afford to lose your service. I'll try not to step on you." "WHAT!" screamed Ed, "Who-are-you-calling-so-short-his-shifts-are-longer-than-he-is! You know I've been working for the past 36 hours straight. I was going back to Resembool to get a good few days' sleep. Just as long as that wrench-wielding bi-" "Fullmetal! Watch your mouth!" snapped the colonel. "Yeah, whatever…" sighed Ed, who could now collapse at any time in the immediate future. When he believed he was out of earshot, Ed muttered under his breath, "stupid, ignorant, WHAT THE HELL-" Ed quickly put out the flames on his braid. The dogs then continued on their ways.

Colonel Mustang arrived at the base 45 minutes after leaving his house. As he made his way to his office, he passed Jean Havoc. "Hey, Roy," he greeted. "Finally in, huh?" "Yeah," said Roy. "Say," started Havoc, "Can you give me a light? I've had this one in my mouth for the last half-hour after I used my last match." "What about your lighter?" asked Roy. "Ran out of fluid two days ago. I haven't had the opportunity to get more, yet." "What about the spare lighters?" Roy asked again. "Same thing," replied Jean simply. "Okay, then," consented Roy, "Just stay perfectly still right there. I'll go over here and…" About a second and a half passed. From three floors up and at the other end of the hall, Riza Hawkeye heard "OH MY GOD! MY FACE! MY FACE!" It didn't even take her a tenth of a second to deduce what had just transpired. She rushed down to Havoc's office, finding Roy holding him and Havoc with ashes in his mouth and a blackened face. "Riza," started Roy, "Call 911 or whoever you need to!" "Already done, sir," she replied. And she began to assist Roy in helping Jean.

Once Jean had been taken to the emergency room, Roy continued to get to his office. He knew that he would have quite a few papers to sign. He unlocked his door and found six columns of papers, each column one foot high, all on his desk. "Oh man," he said to himself, "I'll end up like Ed after I get through all this." But, not wanting to waste time, he began to sign the papers, not even reading them. Unfortunately, one was a request for permission to order 230,000 pepperoni and 500,000 sausage pizzas for the military base, all "graciously" paid for by Colonel Roy Mustang. It also stated that if there was anything leftover, it would go to the Armstrong family. He muttered curse words under his breath due to the amount of work he had to do in one day.

Six hours later, Mustang was finished signing stuff. "That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would," he said to himself, "But I'm still pretty tired. I'll get some coffee." He went down to the machine, and found Major Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong Arm Alchemist there, sipping his own cup. Mustang purchased a cup of coffee, and turned to Armstrong. "Hey, how ya doin?" asked the colonel. "I'm fine. Just needed a drink is all. Say, Roy, did you sign my request to order pizzas?" "What?" asked Roy, very confused. "Did you approve the ordering of many pizzas?" repeated the major. "What are you talking about?" questioned Roy. "I left a request for permission on your desk. Did you sign it?" said Alex. "I don't know, but probably." "Seriously, colonel? I, Major Alex Louis Armstrong, did not expect you to sign such a thing, but thanks. Can I take the money from your paycheck or from your bank account?" asked Armstrong. "Why the hell- Oh shit!" said the colonel as he dropped his coffee and ran back to his office as quickly as he could. "Hey, wait!" said Armstrong. But Roy was already out of sight. He ran back to his office, only to find that all the papers he signed (and a few others) had been taken already. "Dammit!" swore Roy, "I knew I should have read everything." The Führer then walked into the room. "Hi, Roy," he said cheerfully. "How are ya, colonel?"

"Crap," muttered Roy under his breath. "Well, you see, Führer, I, uhhh, lost something. There is no way I can get it back." "Do you mean this?" asked the Führer, holding up the document authorizing the ordering of many pizzas. "That's it!" shouted the colonel, "Infinite thanks to you, sir. Now, if you could, for the moment, hold that where you can easily let it go, I can do as I will with it. Drop it when I say so." "Okay," said the Führer, "I'm ready." Roy pulled out a white glove. "Okay, then…NOW!" And the temperature in the room suddenly shot up about fifty degrees Fahrenheit.

Not wanting to cause any more trouble that day, Roy decided to go home early. He locked his office door, went down the stairs, and headed for the base main entrance. A young man in his early twenties was standing there with two tractor trailers right behind him. "Say," said the young man, "Are you Colonel Roy Mustang?" "Yes," said Roy, "I am. Why?" "Well," said the man, "It now looks like you owe me roughly 1.5 million dollars for all the pizza." "No, I don't," said Roy. "Well, is there a 'Mr. Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong Arm Alchemist' here?" asked the young man, reading off of a notepad. "Yes, there is," said Roy, "Talk to him. Tell him that I revoked my permission for him to order numerous pizzas. By the way, what's with the tractor-trailers?" "It's the pizzas," said the young man. "Well, how many did he order?" demanded Roy. The young man checked his notepad again. "Uhhh…230,000 pepperoni and 500,000 sausage," he said. "Shit," said Roy under his breath. And Roy went home to end his day at the base.


End file.
